Asparagus & Leek Salad

This salad falls into a category of dishes many people rarely think to make, a vegetable or two cooked quickly and dressed simply; there are no herbs added to the dressing, no nuts, cheese, or other embellishments garnishing the dish—it is what it is.   

This weekend, seeing the first asparagus of the season and thin pale leeks at the farmers market reminded me, yet again, how good a meal can be made with just a few ingredients .

I’m suggesting the lemon dressing used on my Caesar Salad, but any vinaigrette you like can be used, as well just as a drizzle of olive oil and Balsamic vinegar.

Asparagus and Leek Salad

1 pound asparagus, tough ends trimmed, lower two-thirds of stalks peeled
Salt
1 leek, trimmed of darkest green leaves and any outer layers that are blemished or fibrous, root left intact
1/4 cup lemon dressing (see category index for salads)

Bring a pot of water to a boil. Meanwhile, wash and trim asparagus as described above.

Place the leak on a cutting board and carefully make thin slices down the length of the leek. You will end up with 3 to 5 flat slices of leek, depending on how large the leek is. Now, make a series of narrow cuts down each leek slice to create matchsticks attached to the root; trim off root.  You should have a pile of thin leek ribbons; if you do not, I appologize for not explaining the technique well enough.

Salt the water and add the asparagus; cook until it is tender but still has some bite. Remove with a slotted scoop, draining well, and place on a serving dish. Add leeks to boiling water and cook for about 1 minutes, until wilted; remove, drain, and combine with asparagus.

Let the asparagus cool to warm and toss with the dressing. Let stand at room temperature until serving. .

Serves 4 as a side dish, starter, or salad course

Short and Stout

The title would make a great deal more sense if this recipe were for short ribs, which in fact you could use, but I used top round.  While French and Italian—and in the case of Sauerbrauten, German—cooks braise tough cuts of meat in wine to tenderize them and enhance their naturally big flavors, in Ireland and Belgium, beer is more often the cooking liquid of choice.

There are not that many ingredients in this stew, and none of them are exotic, so this is a very approachable dish for a cook of any skill level.  The only trick, if you can call it that, is simply to make sure you brown the meat well since the caramelized juices contribute so much to the dish.

The stew starts with bacon, which adds some depth and a bit of smoky sweetness, but the dish can be made without it and not be lacking. On the other hand, do not omit the carrots even if you prefer not to eat them; their natural sweetness tempers the bitter nature of the beer.

Two last words on ingredients: I used top round simply because it was the best looking piece of meat available in the quantity I wanted, but bottom round and chuck (which are often cheaper) are in fact the better cuts for this stew; they have a bit more fat and connective tissue which keep them moist and add body to the gravy.  If you are using either of those, the gravy might not require as much flour to thicken it, so either reduce the quantity by a tablespoon or so, or thin the finished gravy with  additional broth if required.

I have included an alternate preparation for anyone who would like to make this in a slow cooker—just don’t skip browning the meat or the flour or you’ll have a very different stew. 

Depending on my mood, I serve the stew in bowls over wide noodles tossed with butter, or aside mashed potatoes or Colcannon.  If you go for the latter, add some soda bread and a pot of tea.  Like most stews, this one can be a made a couple days ahead and reheated before serving.

Beef and Stout Stew
Vegetable oil, as needed
1/3 cup flour
4 slices bacon, preferably a naturally-smoked type, chopped into 1/4-inch pieces (more or less)
3 pounds boneless beef—top or bottom round, or chuck, trimmed of excess fat and cut into 1 1/2-inch cubes
Salt and freshly-ground pepper
3 large onions (about 2 pounds), cut in half and sliced into 1/4-inch slices
1 teaspoon sugar
2 cups oatmeal stout, or another very dark beer
1 cup chicken or beef broth
1 teaspoon dried thyme leaves
2 bay leaves
1/2 teaspoon crushed rosemary leaves, or 1 small sprig fresh
4 large carrots, scrubbed and cut into 2-inch pieces

Heat a large, deep saute pan or a dutch-oven over medium heat, add the flour and cook, stirring constantly, until is golden brown; remove and set aside in a small bowl. Add the bacon to the pan, stirring occasionally, until it is fairly crisp and the fat has been rendered out.  Scoop the bacon out and set aside on a plate.  Drain most of the fat from the pan, but do not wipe off the brown bits that have formed on the bottom.

Add the meat, in batches, to the pan, season with salt and pepper, and cook until it is well browned on all sides.  Remove to the plate with the bacon and continue with remaining meat, adding vegetable oil as needed.   Add the onions and sugar to the pan and cook until the onions are wilted and begin to take on some color, lowering the heat as necessary to be sure you do not burn the glaze forming on the bottom of the pan.
  
Heat oven to 350 degrees.

Pour the beer into the pan and scrape the bottom with a wooden spoon to remove the brown bits. Stir together the flour and broth until smooth; add to the pan along with all the reserved and remaining ingredients and bring to a boil while stirring it; cover the pot, place in the oven, and bake for about 1 1/2 hours, or until the meat is tender.  Check for seasoning, adding more salt and pepper as needed, and serve.

Serves six to eight

Slow Cooker Variation
Brown the flour, and cook the bacon and beef as described above. De-glaze pan with the beer, add the broth and flour mixture and bring to a boil. Combine in a slow cooker with the remaining and reserved ingredients.

Cook for approximately 4 hours on high, or 8 hours on low, or as suggested by a similar recipe provided by the manufacturer of your particular slow cooker.

 

The Upside

Here in California we are experiencing a late-winter full of contradiction.  One day may be seventy degrees and sunny with people calling in sick so they can go to the beach, and the next it may be pouring buckets and chilly enough that you are digging in drawers for the long underwear.

As confusing as it is to us, it is more so to the things that grow in dirt—my coral bells are forming flower stocks, the pots of thyme and sage are beginning to show signs of life, and I found rhubarb in the market.  I have no idea what this means for the spring crop of rhubarb—will it just keep producing, or does this mean by Easter it will be gone?—so I figured, even at four dollars a pound, I better make use of some now.

I chose this recipe because it requires just a pound of rhubarb (which is economical) and also  thinking that for those new to rhubarb, a recipe that features it as a flavoring rather than the bulk of the dish might be a good way to try it out.

This recipe appeared in Gourmet magazine, a trusted source for me, and I have changed very little.  The original cake was flavored with ground anise seed which I replaced with cardamom, knowing that anise is not universally loved.   Aside from that, my only change was the vessel in which I baked it.  It was meant to be made in a 10-inch cast iron skillet, a pan I do not happen to own.

I use a 10-inch non-stick skillet with sloping edges which works admirably; you could also use a cake pan if you simply do not have a skillet that fits the bill.  Pre-heat the oven,  place the cake pan with the butter in it into the oven, melt it, add the sugar and proceed as directed.  As added insurance if you are doing it this way, I suggest you butter the sides of the pan, once it is cool, before you add the cake batter.

Rhubarb Upside-Down Cake

The Topping
1/2 stick (4 tablespoons) unsalted butter
Generous 3/4 cup light brown sugar, packed
1 to 1 1/4 pounds rhubarb, rinsed and trimmed of any leaves (poisonous) and wilted pieces

The Cake
1 1/2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom or anise seed (you could also use ginger and nutmeg, either singly or in combination- go easy on the nutmeg as it can overwhelm)
1 stick (1/2 cup) unsalted butter, at room temperature
2/3 cup sugar
2 large eggs
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup buttermilk or yogurt, given a good shake or stir
1/4 milk

In a 10-inch skillet, either well-seasoned cast iron or non-stick, melt the butter over medium heat on top of the stove.  When the foaming begins to subside, lower the heat and sprinkle the brown sugar as evenly as you can over the butter.  Allow it to stand undisturbed for 3 minutes; all the sugar will not melt.  Remove from heat and set aside while you cut the rhubarb into 1-inch pieces .  Place the rhubarb, rounded-side down, all over the bottom of the skillet, arranging in concentric circles, or however you like.

Heat the oven to 350 degrees.  Combine all the dry ingredients for the cake  in a medium bowl and whisk to combine.  Beat the butter and sugar with a mixer until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes.  Add the eggs one at a time, beating well and scraping the sides to be sure all is combined; add the vanilla.  On low speed, add the flour mixture and the milk and buttermilk, alternately, starting and ending with the dry ingredients.  It need only be mixed to combine; do not over-beat it.

The batter will be thick but do your best to pour it over the rhubarb, then spread it gently to cover.  You want to get it fairly even, but smoothing it is not neccesary, and you don’t want to move the rhubarb around.  Bake for approximately 45 minutes, or until a cake tester inserted is clean.  Check after 30 minutes and if the top is already golden brown, cover loosely with foil.

Remove the cake from the oven and cool on a rack for fifteen minutes.  Place a serving plate over the skillet and carefully (use a kitchen towel as it will still be hot) flip them both over.  Remove the pan and admire your handy work.  Cool until just warm before serving.  I think the texture of the cake is at its best the first day—springy and sponge-like—but it will keep under refrigeration for a few days.

Serves 8

Note: My cooling racks are stored in a cupboard that is not located in my kitchen, under a bunch of stuff I rarely use, so I usually grab a 28-ounce can of tomatoes from the pantry, place it on the counter, and stick the cake  pan right on top.  The air circulates around the pan and cools it just as well; just be sure you don’t bump it with your elbow while filling the tea kettle (no, that is not hypothetical).

Rhubarb AND Strawberries

Anyone who knows me well knows I don’t like strawberry rhubarb pie;  my appologies to cooks everywhere but I think cooked strawberries are one of the nastiest things ever—taste and texture are both ruined by cooking as far as I am concerned. 

But this pie, devised by Narsai David, food writer and the one-time owner of the café at Magnin’s in San Francisco,  is very different.  A fully-baked crust is filled with rhubarb that is cooked on the stove, chilled, and topped with cream and sliced berries. 

The contrast between the tart, soft rhubarb and the sweet, uncooked berries is wonderful, and the cream brings it all together.  This is also a good pie for those who are pie-shy since only the crust need be baked; in fact, I think  this pie would be just as good using a graham cracker or cookie crust (maybe gingersnaps) which is even easier.  

Narsai’s Summer Rhubarb Strawberry Pie

An 8- or 9-inch pie shell
1 pound rhubarb, washed and cut into 1-inch thick slices
½ cup sugar
Juice and grated rind of half a lemon
2 tablespoon cornstarch blended with 3 tablespoons water
Pinch of salt

1 cup whipping cream
2 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 pint strawberries, washed, hulled, and halved if the berries are small or sliced if they are large

Heat oven to 425 degrees. Bake pie shell for 10 minutes then lower heat to 375 degrees and continue to bake until golden and crisp; the pie is not baked once it is assembled so the crust needs to be fully cooked.

Place the rhubarb, sugar, salt and lemon into a skillet over medium-high heat, bring to a boil and begin to add some of the cornstarch slurry, starting with about half of it, stirring constantly.  Cook for about 5 minutes, until the rhubarb is tender.  

It will thicken up more while it chills, but if you feel it isn’t thick enough (about like a cooked pudding should be), add a bit more of the cornstarch and cook for another minute.   Pour into shell and refrigerate until completely chilled.

Whip the cream in a chilled bowl and until soft peaks form; beat in sugar and vanilla. Spread over the pie and garnish with the berries.

Serves 8

 

Corned Beef and Cabbage, Revamped

As with all my recipes, this one bears a disclaimer—the corned beef. It is getting harder and harder to find anything other than the corned beef packaged in shrink-rap emblazoned with an Irish name around St. Patrick’s Day.

If you have a butcher and can order a first cut corned beef, go for it—it will be leaner, larger, shrink less during cooking and feed more people. Four pounds of grocery store corned beef will serve four to six, while a first cut brisket will feed as many as eight. If you are making this recipe to serve eight and cannot find a first cut, I think it’s best to play it safe and buy two pieces of meat; you’ll end up with leftovers, but those can be used to make Reubens, and that’s actually favorite way to combine corned beef and cabbage.

As for the cabbage, I am not a fan of wedges cooked to watery imperfection as is generally the case; when I make corned beef and cabbage, the cabbage is shredded and sautéed, a technique that has been met by approval by my Irish relatives who say that is how the cabbage they grew up on was cooked.  So there.

For the braise

1 corned beef brisket, first cut if possible
2 medium onions cut in quarters
3 carrots, cut in 2-inch pieces
3 ribs celery, cut in 2-inch pieces
3 cloves garlic, cut in half
2 bay leaves
1 strip of rind from an orange, and the juice of the orange
8 whole cloves

Heat oven to 350 degrees. Rinse off the corned beef and pat dry. Place a portion of the vegetables and flavoring agents in a dutch oven (or other pan that can go from stove to oven), add the beef and top with the rest of the vegetables. Add cold water so that it does not quite come up the top of the beef and place on the stove; bring to a boil and transfer to the oven.

Cook with the lid slightly ajar, turning the meat over every thirty minutes, until it is very tender but not falling apart—a fork should easily pierce but not shred the meat when it is done—anywhere from 2 ½ to 3 hours. Reduce oven temperature to 225 degrees. Remove the meat to a platter, cover with foil and place in the oven, along with a serving bowl for the cabbage.

To finish the dish

8 small leeks (about the size of a carrot) or 16 small boiling onions
8 small carrots (about 6-inches long) scrubbed, or 6 regular carrots, scrubbed and cut diagonally in 2-inch lengths
3 parsnips, peeled and cut in 2-inch pieces
16 small new potatoes or 8 medium potatoes, scrubbed and trimmed
1 head cabbage, about 3 pounds, cored and coarsely shredded
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
Salt and pepper to taste
Horseradish, Cumberland sauce, and mustard, for serving

If you are using the leeks, trim off all but about an inch or two of the dark green and wash the leeks in a bowl of water. If you are using the onions, peel them (blanching for a minute in boiling water makes this easier if they are stubborn).

Strain the meat cooking liquid and discard the vegetables. Return the broth to the pot and bring to a simmer. Place a large skillet over medium heat and add the butter; cook until it is foamy and add the cabbage. Sprinkle lightly with salt and stir to combine.

Meanwhile place the remaining vegetables in the broth and simmer covered over low heat until tender, about 20 minutes. Add a ½ cup or so of the broth to the cabbage and continue to cook until it is tender, but not mushy, adding salt and pepper as needed. Slice the meat and put back on the platter with the vegetables arranged around it; transfer the cabbage to the bowl and serve.

Serves 8

Cumberland Sauce

For those who like a sweet and slightly-spicy accompaniment to their corned beef.

1 cup red currant jelly
½ cup Port
The juice and grated rind of an orange
1 Tablespoon dry mustard
1 1-inch piece fresh ginger, grated
Salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste

Combine all the ingredients in a small saucepan and cook over medium heat until the jelly is melted and the ingredients are combined. Taste and adjust the seasonings. Pour into a bowl, cover and refrigerate until needed, at least 2 hours.

Makes 1 ½ cups sauce

Latkes

The famous potato pancake that heralds the arrival of Hanukkah is a welcome sight all year long, and at any meal—with eggs for breakfast or brunch, with a salad for lunch, or with brisket and all varieties of meat for dinner.

I have been making these for years, varying the types of potatoes, using different sized graters, and trying different starches as a binding agent; I think this particular method is the best of my experimentation. Yukon Golds, or any waxy potato, makes a lighter, crisper pancake than russets do, and Matzo meal binds things just enough without adding the starch flour will. As for the grater, use the largest-holed grater you can find.

You can play around with the flavor by adding fresh herbs or substituting chives or green onions for the onions. Applesauce is the traditional accompaniment when they are eaten with meat, sour cream when they are eaten with a dairy meal—I love them with sour cream flavored with chopped, fresh dill and chives, no matter the meal.

2 ½ to 3 pounds waxy new potatoes such as Yukon Gold, scrubbed well and trimmed of any brown spots
1 large onion
4 large eggs
½ cup Matzo meal, or more as needed
1 tablespoon Kosher salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground pepper, black or white, according to preference
Vegetable oil for frying

Fill a large mixing bowl about half way with water and grate the potatoes into it. Finely chop the onion and add it to the bowl as well. After a few minutes, drain off the water and refill; let stand 10 minutes, agitating the water a few times. Continue this until the water remains clear.

This will remove excess starch making the potatoes crisper, and it also allows you to grate them hours prior to cooking. Drain well, squeezing on them lightly to removed excess water, and spread on a towel; roll the towel up, place in a plastic bag and chill until needed. I have actually prepared the potatoes the night before a brunch with no discoloration, but I would not recommend including the onion if they will be held more than a couple of hours, since it can begin to develop a strong taste.

Beat the eggs with the salt and pepper and add the potatoes and matzo meal, tossing the mixture together well. When you scoop up a bit of the mixture it should just barely hold together, add more egg or matzo if needed—if you are in doubt, cook a few to see how well they hold their shape.

As you make them, you will see a pool of egg forming in the bottom of the bowl, either add more matzo meal to absorb that, or drain the excess back into the bowl as you scoop them.

Heat an oven to 250 degrees and place a baking sheet or two in. Lay some paper on a surface near the stove to drain the latkes on. Heat about ¾-inch oil in a large skillet over medium heat until you can feel the heat if you place your hand over the pan; it should be about 350 degrees if you want to use a thermometer.

Scoop about ¼ cup of the mixture and place in the pan, gently press on it with a spatula to spread out slightly. Cook as many pancakes as fit comfortably—with some room between, at a time. Cook until they are slightly less brown than you’d like them, about 3 minutes on each side. Drain on the towels while you add the next batch to the pan before placing them on the baking sheet in the oven.

Continue until you have made all the latkes; raise the oven heat to 350 degrees. Leave in the oven until they are a deep, golden brown and very hot, about 5 minutes.

Serves 8

 

Kugel! Kugel! Kugel!

I made kugel last night for the second night of Hanukkah. I don’t celebrate every night of the Festival of Lights—with my not being Jewish it seems excessive, but I do enjoy several Hanukkah specialties and this decadent noodle pudding is among them.

By the way, while I am not Jewish, at one time I very much wanted to be. (This will be a fairly short digression. For me.) My great-grandmother had a Jewish boyfriend, or at least he seemed to think he was (her boyfriend, not Jewish). She was a Protestant widow born in Victorian England, very conventional, so it’s safe to say that no matter how nice he was their relationship was never going to blossom.

Despite that, he gave her gifts occasionally, and one of them was a crystal powder jar with a sterling silver cover. It had a Hebrew symbol on it.  Seeing it once, I asked my mom if we had Jewish relatives in our past, and my aunt was quick to respond “NO! We are not Jewish.”

She made it sound like an affliction. That got me thinking . . . I also had a great uncle (in name only) who, when I said how much I liked his patio furniture (metal chairs from the fifties in a variety of cool colors), told me it was a good thing they lasted as long as they had, as the guy he bought them from (a Mr. Epstein if memory serves) “jewed” him on the price.

That was when I started to fantasize about becoming Jewish. I figured annoying my aunt and causing my uncle to have to censor his comments would be totally worth whatever being Jewish involved. Even then I knew some Yiddish, and when I was two days old a doctor essentially rendered me Jewish from the waist down (you don’t need to make a note of that, there will not be a quiz on it later).

Sometime later, Mary Ann Lehman, who was in my sixth grade class and preparing for her Bat Mitzvah, told us that she had to learn Hebrew in order to do so. There was also some mention of not mixing dairy and meat (Hello- Lasagne!), and attending Temple, which I understand is not unlike church but a day earlier so they can sleep in on Sunday (genius!).

It sounded complicated to me, like trying to build something out of an erector set that made use of the generator that came free in the box. Eventually I decided to ditch my Jewish dreams, but despite that I made a very good kugel last night and would like to pass it along.  

Some kugels are slightly sweet, some very sweet, but mine had no sugar in it all, making it a dish more versatile in terms of how and when to serve it.  If you’d like a sweet kugel, simply add ½ to ¾ cup sugar to the recipe.

The other element that can vary the dish greatly is the baking time—no more than a half hour in the oven and you have a slightly-loose pudding that glides a bit on the plate.  This way, it’s very much like an especially-rich and creamy macaroni and cheese.  Bake it for 45 minutes to an hour and it is denser, dryer, and richer tasting.  If you prefer the looser version be sure not to assemble the pudding more than ha30 minutes before baking it as the noodles begin to absorb the custard and will result in the denser version however short the baking time.

Noodle Kugel

There are many variations on how much of each ingredient is added to kugel, but the majority of them contain virtually the same ingredients.  If you wish to make this vaguely health-conscious, you can use an egg substitute such as Egg Beaters (which will not affect the quality of the dish in the least), and use reduced fat versions of cottage cheese, cream cheese, and sour cream.  Do not go any further than that, non-fat dairy products contain stabilizers and gelatins that will ruin both the flavor and texture of the dish.

8 ounces wide egg noodles
Salt
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted, plus additional for greasing the pan
4 ounces cream cheese, at room temperature
3 eggs, beaten
1 cup sour cream
½ cup milk
1 cup cottage cheese
½ teaspoon salt
Big pinch of cinnamon (you can use more, but I like the way a little bit sort of teases you with each bite)

Optional topping
½ cup bread crumbs made from Challah, Brioche, or white bread
1 tablespoon unsalted butter, melted

Boil the noodles in salted water until not quite tender; drain and toss with the melted butter.

Heat the oven to 350 degrees. Grease a baking dish (9×13 or thereabouts) with butter. Combine the topping ingredients if you are using them.

In a large bowl, beat the cream cheese until creamy and smooth, then start blending in the remaining ingredients. Stir in the noodles and combine well. Pour into the casserole, sprinkled with the buttered crumbs, and cover with foil. Bake for 30 minutes to 1 hour, depending upon your personal preference. Remove the foil the last ten minutes of baking so the topping can crisp a bit. Let stand 5 minutes before serving.

Serves 8, theoretically

Variation: If you are opting for the sweeter version, I suggest replacing the bread crumbs with crushed graham crackers, sweetened slightly and tossed with an additional tablespoon of butter.

Comfort Me with Apples

Necessity is, as my friend Michelle has pointed out, more often the mother of improvisation than invention. When you accidentally poach apples longer than you should have and do not have the time to make more, you figure out how to make a birthday-worthy dessert out of applesauce.

Baker Leslie Mackie (via the book Baking with Julia) came to my rescue reminding me of a French apple tart that combines a thick applesauce with apple slices. Upon eating the resulting creation, my mom said “Who needs birthday cake when you can have this?”

To make this tart—and it is a tart rather than a pie—easier, I’m going to suggest using store-bought applesauce. There are many brands and I’m sure the quality varies, with some of the higher-end brands being made of specific varieties of apples, and possibly including spices, lemon rind, or an apple liqueur.

If you find something along those lines it will probably be fine as is; if you choose something more basic it may need some doctoring. Taste it and add sugar, lemon, a pinch of cinnamon or ginger, or a splash of brandy if you think it needs it.  And don’t forget salt—salt makes things taste more like what they are supposed to taste like.  People getting all hepped up about too much salt is ruining American food.

For the sliced apples, Pippins, Mutsus, Golden Delicious and Granny Smith are all reliable cooking apples, but if you can find very fresh (and by that I mean very firm, not at all mealy) Winesaps, they are excellent. You’re going to need a removable bottom tart pan for this recipe, but you can get them at most cookware stores, and the tinned steel variety are usually ten dollars or less.

I forgot to photograph mine, but this is pretty close to what it looked like.

Apple Tart

Pasty for a single crust pie (preferably one made with butter)
2 to 3 cups applesauce
3 tablespoons butter
Sugar, salt, lemon juice and/or rind, cinnamon, ginger, all to taste
3 medium to large apples
1 lemon
1 to 2 tablespoons sugar

Apricot jam, heated until liquidy, optional
Barely sweetened whipped cream, or crème fraiche, for serving
Chopped candied ginger for garnish, optional (but awfully good)

Roll out the pasty to a thickness of 1/8-inch (or close to it) and fit it into the pan. Trim off all but 1-inch of the overhang and fold it into the pan to make the edges thicker than the rest of the pastry, pressing it lightly to seal it itself. Chill the dough until needed, at least a half hour.

Sample your chosen applesauce and analyze the taste and texture, starting with the latter. It should be thick, not quite as dense as apple butter, but thick enough to hold its shape when scooped up with a spoon. The odds are it will need to be cooked to evaporate some moisture and tighten it up a bit. Cook the 3 cups of applesauce (which will reduce by about a cup) on the stove or in the microwave, as you like, stirring frequently, until it meets the above criteria. If you are going to be cooking it anyway, this is a good time to enhance the flavor by adding a strip or two of lemon or orange rind, and some spices if you like.

Stir in 1 tablespoon of the butter and taste the sauce, adding anything you think is needed to create a slightly sweet, highly-flavored applesauce. Refrigerate it to cool it down. Meanwhile, peel the apples and cut in half; remove the cores and slice the halves into slices no thicker than1/4-inch. Spread the applesauce into the lined pan so that it is 1/4 to 1/2 inch from the rim.

Heat the oven to 425 degrees. Lay the slices of apples in a circle over the filling, overlapping them slightly. When you have gone all the way around, create a second circle of apple slices inside the first. You can take your time and make sure they are all flawlessly arranged, but as much as this is a sophisticated dessert, I think it’s sort of rustic sophistication (in other words, I did not take my time). Place a few slices in the center in a pattern of some sort to give it a finished look-for instance, three slices overlapping to simulate a fleur de lis.

Melt the remaining butter and brush it over the apple slices, then sprinkle with the sugar (if the apples are very tart use all of it). Set the pan on a baking sheet and put in the oven; bake for ten minutes then lower the heat to 400 degrees. Bake an additional 25 to 35 minutes, or until the crust is a deep golden brown and the apples are tender and tinged with brown at the edges.

Remove from the oven and allow to cool for at least an hour prior to serving; it’s best warm or at room temperature. If you want a shiny finish brush the melted jam over the apple slices.  Serve with a spoon of softly whipped cream or crème fraiche and a sprinkling of candied ginger.

Serves 8

Leftovers can be refrigerated, and make a good breakfast with some whole milk yogurt. Well, they do.

Swiss Pumpkin for Ruth and for Me

Ruth Reichl is a very dear friend of mine, although she is not aware of it. Her autobiographical books Tender at the Bone, Comfort Me with Apples, and Garlic and Sapphires have kept me on the edge of my seat in the way Harry Potter  has done with children.The books inspire, comfort, stimulate, and engross. All along the way she is cooking: She is cooking Schnitzel for her father; Matzo Brei for her hung-over school friends; chocolate cake for the love of her life; and stuffed pumpkin in memory of a relationship that has ended.

And I can see how she would—it’s a little bit of an indulgence and a lot soothing; but indulgent, soothing foods need not be limited to the times when we are down. A beautiful pumpkin brimming with good things, brought to a table of guests, could be the centerpiece of a great celebration.

Think of this as a savory bread pudding baked inside a pumpkin rather than a baking dish, and think of this as part of a Thanksgiving menu. The description of this is longer than the actual procedure, but there are a lot of variables with regard to the pumpkin and that needs to be considered. As long as you read through and make the necessary adjustments, and let go of any control issues, you’ll be fine. It took a great cook to come up with this idea, but even the most basci of cooks can bring this to the table, fit to eat.

Ruth’s recipe called for a pumpkin of about four pounds and required two hours of cooking time; my pumpkin weighed five pounds and was done in an hour and a half. I turned the oven down to 200 degrees and held it for 45 minutes and it was still moist and luscious. I think the time comes down to the thickness of the pumpkin as much as the weight.

My pumpkin weighed five pounds, but once I cleaned it out, the flesh was barely more than an inch thick. When you scrape your pumpkin, take note of how thick the outer wall is and consider that when timing it. And I think the time it spent in the warm oven was actually a good thing, the pumpkin was still hot, but not scorching hot, so when I served it, it held together nicely rather than falling into itself as it might have done if I’d served it right away.

You can cut it into wedges to serve, but I scooped it, starting at the edge. I removed the lid, pulled down on the skin, removing it about halfway down exposing the flesh and making scooping it quite easy. Once you have served the upper portion, peel off more skin and serve the bottom half.

I think I’m likely to stick with Gruyere, Parmigiano or a dry Jack cheese, but a sharp cheddar or goat cheese would be good as well. Perhaps even a sweet blue-veined cheese would be a good choice. And of course, you add other things to flavor it, such as herbs (sage would be excellent) or thin slivers of ham.

Swiss Pumpkin for Ruth and for Me

1 pumpkin, between 4 and 5 pounds
Kosher salt
1 baguette or other crusty bread, cut in ¼-inch thick slices, and lightly toasted
4 ounces or so sharp cheese, such as Gruyere, Parmigiano, or a dry Jack, grated
1 3/4 cups half and half
2 large eggs
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
Big pinch of nutmeg

Up to several hours ahead of time, clean your pumpkin. Cut off the top of the pumpkin as if you were making a Jack O’ Lantern, cutting about a 1 1/2-inches in from the edge, and being sure to cut at a slight angle so the top doesn’t drop down into the pumpkin. Use a small, sharp knife and cut slowly. Alternately, you can simply cut off the whole top of the pumpkin in a 1-inch slice, which is easier but makes for a less dramatic presentation.

Remove the top and set aside. Using a spoon, remove the strings and seeds from the pumpkin and discard. If there are stubborn strings that do not want to come off, scrape them off using a fork or a paring knife. Set aside until ready to cook.

Two and a half hours before serving, heat the oven to 400 degrees. Lightly salt the inside of the pumpkin.  Cover the bottom of the pumpkin with a layer of bread and sprinkle with a third of the cheese; repeat these layers twice. Mix together the remaining ingredients and pour slowly into the pumpkin.

Put its top back on and place it in a small baking dish (I used a pie plate). Put it the oven, lower the temperature to 375 and bake for 1 1/2 to 2 hours, or until a skewer inserted into the side of pumpkin slides in easily.

Lower heat to 200 degrees and let rest for 15 minutes or longer. Transfer it to a platter if you like, and serve, with a great deal of pride in your creation.

Serves 4 to 6 as a main course or 8 to 10 as a starter or side dish.

Cook’s note: As of this writing, I am thinking of attempting a dessert version of this recipe, omitting the cheese, adding sugar to the cream mixture, and possibly working in some butter somewhere. I will let you know how it goes once I get a chance to try it out.

All Roads Lead to James Beard

I’m sorry to report that a seemingly-simple tomato pie has resulted in a thousand word-plus essay, and of that, only about a third of it is the actual recipe.

An online friend, Laurilyn, gave me a recipe for a tomato pie she attributed to Diana Gage’s husband’s ex-girlfriend’s mother—this probably means no more to you than it did to me, but I like the story behind a recipe, especially when it demonstrates that while relationships may end, good recipes live on.

When I read the recipe I had one of those flashes of memory that are hazy at best.  I was convinced James Beard, one of the great American food writers—who it seems these days is a mere footnote in the cookbooks of other food writers—made a tomato pie. My online searches resulted in numerous variations of the pie, some of them noting the similarity to one featured in a James Beard cookbook.

I can’t be sure if it originated with him or not but I lean toward believing it did: He was very fond of cheese, often used mayonnaise as a binding agent, and was known for his biscuits—the crust of this pie is made of biscuit dough rather than pastry. 

The recipes varied greatly: Some used zucchini or corn along with the tomatoes; a few combined the mayonnaise with the cheese, while others layered the ingredients; the crust alternated between pastry,  home-made biscuits, and a biscuit mix; and finally, many had a wonderful story to go along with them about how the recipe was invented by one of their relatives.

I’m afraid most of our grandmothers lied their aprons off, as I have seen many “secret family recipes” that are straight out of “The Joy of Cooking” and “Fannie Farmer,” including my great-grandmother’s poundcake (that pinch of mace is a dead giveaway, Rose Perry).

When I began my first attempt I had a major prejudice to overcome—my dislike of any cooked dish which contains mayonnaise. I always find no matter how good the recipe may be, the slightly-sweet, slightly-oily character of commercial mayonnaise lurks behind every bite.

Laurilyn suggested using yogurt as a substitute and I decided to begin with a combination of the two.  Even cut by half I found it too “mayonnaise-y” for me, so I tried using all yogurt the next go-round and ended up with a watery pie.  I attribute this to my having used very juicy Heirloom-type tomatoes rather than meatier plum or beefsteak tomatoes.  For my third attempt, I used yogurt with two egg yolks thrown in as added insurance; this one worked for me.

I tried different crusts as well.  The first time I made it I had no Bisquick on hand and made my own dough. The next time, I used Bisquick and was less pleased;  it over-browned during baking and tasted like an overcooked biscuit. 

It took me a while but I realized the error was in the baking dish I used—a dark-glazed pottery pie plate, a pan that really encourages browning. Bisquick being made of vegetable shortening—as opposed to a biscuit dough made with butter, which contains water in the form of milk solids—browns much quicker so I should have been using glass (which is what most of the recipes indicated, but I don’t have a glass pie plate). So if you opt for Bisquick, you’re best to stay away from metal or pottery pans with a dark finish.

Are you still with me? I hope so because I think we’ve reached the home stretch. You can use any tomatoes you like, but be sure they are not overly ripe or you’ll have a wet pie, and if you like the sweet-tart nature of green tomatoes, by all means give them a try. Laurilyn suggested it to me and I was especially pleased with that version.

The cheese is entirely up to personal preference—I used white cheddar in every pie I made, used a portion of jack cheese in one, and added some leftover goat cheese in the other two (it’s best with ripe tomatoes as its tanginess and the tartness of the green tomatoes were too much of the same flavor). Vary the herbs as you wish; I made use of what I manage to keep alive in pots outside the back door.

And now, at long last, the recipe.

Yet Another Tomato Pie

For a super-quick crust:
2 cups Bisquick baking mix
½ cup cold milk

Combine the baking mix and milk in a small bowl and mix to create a workable dough.

For a fairly-quick crust:
1 ½ cups unbleached all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, cold and cut into small pieces
½ cup cold milk, approximately

Combine the dry ingredients in a small bowl and mix to combine; add the butter and cut it in with your fingers until the mixture looks like cornmeal. Mix in just enough milk to make a workable dough.

To line the pan:
Press the dough evenly into the bottom and up the sides of a 9- to 10-inch glass pie plate. You can also roll out the dough between two sheets of plastic wrap; I actually found this easier since I am not good at pressing evenly (I never stayed in the lines either). Roll it into to a 12-inch circle, lift off the top sheet of plastic and invert the dough over the pan, remove the other sheet of plastic, and press the dough into the pan. Crimp the edge and trim away any overhanging dough.

For the pie:
1 ½ to 2 pounds tomatoes, peeled and sliced ¼-inch thick
¼ cup snipped chives or ½ cup sliced green onions
Salt and pepper, to taste
2 or more tablespoons fresh herbs such as basil, dill, parsley, mint, or a combination
¾ cup plain yogurt combined with 2 egg yolks, or 1 cup mayonnaise
2 cups (about 7 ounces) grated cheese, such as white cheddar

Heat the oven to 350 degrees. Cover the bottom of the crust with a layer of tomatoes; sprinkle with salt, pepper, and half of the chives (or onions) and herbs. Repeat the process. Eat any tomato slices that do not fit.

Combine about half the cheese with the yogurt mixture and spread over the tomatoes; sprinkle the remaining cheese over the top. Bake for 40 to 45 minutes, until the crust is golden and the filling looks like it is more solid than liquid—it will set up further as it cools.

It should cool for a half hour prior to serving, and it can be cooled even longer and served at room temperature.